


Shart Boy and Lava Girl

by orphan_account



Category: Booksmart (2019), House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Holidays, Lactose Intolerance, Recreational Drug Use, Short & Sweet, love and shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Duncan hates holiday parties.
Relationships: Gigi (Booksmart)/Duncan Shepherd
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	Shart Boy and Lava Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Enjoy this short fic about lactose intolerant Duncan.

Duncan hates holiday parties. His penthouse is currently filled with people that he doesn’t recognize, half of whom are eyeing him like they want to ride his cock to the bank. Christ. Looking to numb the pain, he grabs another hors d'oeuvre and shoves it into his mouth.

“You might want to slow down on those, they’re loaded with cheese.”

He nearly chokes. Swallowing hard, he manages to get the pastry down with the last of his champagne. When Duncan turns to his right, he finds one of the servers from the catering company watching him with sleepy eyes. She’s pretty. “What?” he asks.

The server sighs. “Those mini quiches are full of cheese. Someone at this party is lactose intolerant. I was supposed to put out the little signs with the ingredients, but I got distracted by the hideous furniture.”

A chill shoots down Duncan’s spine. His stomach chooses that moment to gurgle a warning. “You forgot,” he echoes.

The server, her name tag says Gigi, frowns with concern. “Dude, you don’t look so good.” She squints at his face. “You’re all pale and sweaty.”

“I’m fine.” He’s not. This is a disaster. He’s wearing $1000 pants. “Excuse me.” Duncan makes a beeline for the bathroom. A cougar nearly pins him down by a potted plant, but he squeezes his cheeks tight and executes a pirouette maneuver that gets him there in the nick of time.

Midway through the first bought of cramps, cold porcelain under his ass, he hears the outer door to the bathroom open. Thank God he’d thought to close the pocket door between the shower vestibule and the toilet.

“There’s someone in here!” he shouts.

“I can’t help but feel responsible for what’s happening to you.” It’s the server. Gigi.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but _why_ _are you in here?_ ”

“I thought that you could use some moral support.” There’s a shuffling noise. Duncan imagines that she’s shifting her black skirt around to sit down on the floor. Something metallic clicks. The distinctive smell of marijuana wafts through the bathroom.

“Did you just light a joint?” Duncan has the insane urge to smile. He lets out huge fart instead and clutches his middle.

“Your party’s boring,” Gigi says. “Everyone out there is an asshole. The pot’s masking the smell of your lava shits.”

Rude. Duncan reaches a hand out to brace himself against the wall for the next round. “No—no one asked you to be in here,” he grits.

Gigi’s silent for moment. Taking a toke? “The furrow between your eyebrows spoke of intense pain and longing.”

Duncan's not sure what to make of that statement. He clenches his teeth and focuses on pulling in shallow breaths. Maybe if he hyperventilates, he’ll pull in enough second-hand smoke to get stoned. “Do you often comfort people in bathrooms?”

“Just the handsome ones.”

Duncan laughs. She’s cute, in a move into your apartment while you're away for the weekend kind of way. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Go on a date with me.” He has no idea why he said that. He must be drunk. 

Another pause. He pictures her pink lips blowing an O of smoke and has to fight not to get aroused. Or would she be into be into that sort of thing?

“Was that a question or a demand?”

Duncan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I usually don’t have to specify. Either, both.”

“If you make it out of the bathroom alive, I’ll consider it.”

“You’re ridiculous. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Knowing who you are wouldn’t make me any less ridiculous.”

Duncan thinks about that as he finishes on the toilet. One flush and two minutes of hand washing later, he slides open the pocket door to find Gigi still there. She’s sitting next to the door jamb with her back up against the wall. Her eyes are closed. He slumps down beside her and she passes him the joint.

Duncan inhales and holds it until his lungs burn. “I survived,” he coughs.

She smiles. It might be the pot, but it’s kind of breathtaking.

“You poisoned me,” he says. “Kiss me and I won’t go to the cops.”

“They’d never take me alive.” Gigi blinks her eyes open to look at him. “But I always give to charity at Christmas. Lay it on me Shart Boy.”

He does.

Fuck. His brain disconnects with the first swipe of his tongue into her mouth. She tastes sweet. He leans in to cup her pixie face. It all gets a bit fuzzy after that. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth kisses, Gigi ends up in his lap, small hands twisted in his hair. They separate to breathe. Duncan rests his forehead against hers and says, “Merry Christmas."

Gigi’s lashes sweep against her cheeks. “I’m not convinced about this date yet. I think that we should keep kissing.”

Duncan grips her hips and rubs a thumb over the curve of her pelvis. She moans. “I think you’ll find that I’m quite persuasive.”

“Prove it,” she says, her voice throaty.

Shit. Yeah. He made her sound like that. “If we’re loud enough, maybe everyone will leave.”

Gigi ducks her head to bite at his neck and grinds down on his erection. “Christmas miracles and all that.”

FIN


End file.
